


Actions

by angelicaschuyler



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p class="p1">Based on <a href="http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/133371330038/id-love-a-long-or-multi-chapter-angsty-fic-about#notes">this</a> prompt at <a href="http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/">Hamilton prompts. </a></p><p>The war for independence isn't the only war Hamilton and Laurens will have to fight as aides to General George Washington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> -I'm not a history buff, I just like the show. I did the bare minimum research.  
>  -As of now, I have about seven parts to this mapped out. This includes the prologue and epilogue.  
>  -It's going to go a bit off prompt, I think, but I hope whoever requested it still enjoys reading.  
>  -Sorry in advance.  
>  -This is just the prologue, setting the scene and establishing Hamilton and Laurens - the other chapters will be longer.
> 
> Based on [this](http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/133371330038/id-love-a-long-or-multi-chapter-angsty-fic-about#notes) prompt at [Hamilton prompts. ](http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/)

It starts out innocently enough.

They’re just two men, after all – both far from their respective homes with not a soul around to catch on. Two men searching for a larger purpose, of course, but otherwise irrelevant compared to the turmoil that’s surrounding them. There are thousands of others in New York who have the same ambitions and dreams – thousands who are striving to be noticed and remembered. What makes them any different?

At the time, it feels safe. With all eyes looking elsewhere, the risks aren’t so menacing.

John Laurens is like no one Hamilton’s ever met before. Granted, neither are Hercules Mulligan and the Marquis. He’s immediately taken with all three of them. They’re precisely the type of men he hoped to find in New York City – educated, fiery, radical.

Laurens sticks out, though. He’s a bit different. Their shared ideologies alone make Hamilton feel as though their meeting was predetermined, almost as if they’ve been leading parallel lives up until now.

Sometimes, on the evenings the four gather for a late dinner or a drink at a favorite tavern, Laurens is the one who remains when Mulligan and Lafayette turn in for the night. And that’s when their dynamic completely shifts. Hamilton, friendless up until now, frankly feels like he’s drowning in Laurens’ attention and warmth. By all accounts Laurens – born into money and privilege – is someone who never should’ve crossed his path.

They’re just as much a likely match as they are an unlikely one. It doesn’t take long for Hamilton’s days to revolve around Laurens. And Laurens doesn’t seem to mind. They study and write together on weekdays and chase girls on the weekends. They share a bed when it’s too dark to walk home at night. The other half of their foursome mercilessly teases them for it, helpfully pointing out that Laurens seems to be one of the few people in New York City who can tolerate Hamilton’s presence for more than a few hours. 

“I think at most we’ve spent three days together, haven’t we, Alex?” Lafayette asks early one Sunday morning when he visits Laurens’ apartment for breakfast, finding Hamilton setting the table as if he were in his own home. “And how many days have you been invading poor John’s home?” Hamilton only smirks. A blush spreads across Laurens’ cheeks.

On the days he’s not with Laurens, his thoughts are consumed by him. His nights are lonelier. But he knows that Laurens is in just as deep - he can sense it when he catches the other man watching him in the way they are so accustomed to watching a beautiful woman. He knows obsessions are inherently destructive, but he’s been surrounded by destruction his entire life. He doesn’t let it intimidate him. 

 

* * *

 

The night they first kiss is shrouded in a haze of exhaustion and cheap beer. Laurens is walking him back to his shoebox apartment a block or so south of the college. Their goodbyes have become more and more intimate over the course of the months - progressing from handshakes to embraces. Hamilton’s chin is hooked over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he feels Laurens’ dark curls tickling the tip of his nose. When he pulls back, he tilts his head to catch the corner of Laurens' mouth. It's safe - direct enough to be read as an invitation but easy to write off as drunken clumsiness.

To Hamilton's relief, his friend accepts it as the former and crowds him against the doorway. It's over too quickly. Hamilton, as always, wastes no time.

“Was I too forward?” he asks as he pulls away. Laurens’ eyes are half-closed and his chapped lips are still parted. Hamilton’s fingers are tangled in his shirtsleeves, holding onto him. Not out of fear that he’ll bolt. Laurens has always welcomed this - that’s not lost on Hamilton.

Laurens shudders when he laughs. He tries to form words but they never leave his lips. Instead, he kisses him again - a little slower this time, breathing out of his nose and warming the already humid air between them.  

“You’re always too forward,” Laurens says. Hamilton can feel him smiling against his lips. “But I’m more than used to it by now.”

When they pull back this time, their eyes don’t meet. Instead, Hamilton focuses on his own hand, knuckles pale as he still clings to Laurens’ arm. There’s a tightness growing in his stomach. 

“You shouldn’t walk home alone tonight,” Hamilton says when he finally looks at Laurens. Another bold move, he knows, but there’s something like relief that washes across his friend’s face.

Laurens' teasing eyes and playful touches the following day prove it wasn't just a dream.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

On the surface, General George Washington is an austere and distant man; understandably guarded for someone of his stature, and overly careful with his words when he does choose to speak. 

Within days, Hamilton, always quick on his feet, learns how to conduct himself in the presence of his superior. For one, there are rarely any pleasantries exchanged when Hamilton’s called into the General’s office. Washington would rather they get straight to work, and he prefers they work in almost complete silence. It’s a frustrating stipulation for Hamilton, who’s always liked to talk through his tasks. 

There’s a hidden warmth to Washington, though. Hamilton sensed it during their initial meeting.  He knows the General saw something promising in him that day - the same thing that moved the people of Saint Croix to send him off to America to make a name for himself. Working right at the side of the leader of the Continental Army is the sort of opportunity his benefactors dreamed of, no doubt. It’s why he put aside his desire to fight. And while he knows the choice he made is the correct one - the one that will set the course of his future - Washington’s detached demeanor and the meticulous pace at which they work is enough to drive him mad.

“You’ll need to write this again,” Washington says one morning after Hamilton presents him with the draft of a letter he’s penned for Congress. Not just _a_ draft - it’s the third draft he’s written in less than 48 hours. Without even meeting Hamilton’s eyes, Washington slides the papers back across his desk and reaches for a stack of files instead. 

Hamilton’s fists clench at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he stares down at the discarded letter. He must have patience with Washington. They’re only two weeks in. He can’t let his frustration get the best of him already. 

“Sir,” he says, his tone carefully void of any annoyance he feels. “I’ve had to rewrite this letter three times. As you and I both know very well, it’s vital that the letter is sent and received as soon as possible. The troops won’t last long with our current supply of ammunition, and Congress must be prepared to provide rations when the winter is at its worst.”

This makes Washington pause as he flips through his folders. He looks up. The expression on his face, usually unreadable, is now open and inquisitive. He waves to the chair placed in front of his desk and Hamilton takes a seat. The sound of creaking wood fills the quiet office. 

“Your letter, Hamilton,” Washington says, picking up the papers once more and scanning over the first page. “It’s well-written - persuasive. Just as the other drafts were.” 

Hamilton wants to bask in the praise - he’s been yearning for validation. But it doesn’t answer the question of why Washington is being so stubborn.

“Why do I have to rewrite it, then?” Hamilton asks, this time with a bit more fire than intended. “Sir.”

Washington frowns and flips to the final page. He takes a minute or so to silently skim the concluding paragraph, dragging a finger under each line as he reads. He shakes his head and Hamilton tenses.

“It’s too long. You’ve cut three pages already,” Washington says. “You can afford to cut at least five more. And while your passion is admirable, Hamilton, this is a letter to Congress. Not the enemy. Your tone should be less accusatory. While your points are valid, there’s no need for so much heat behind them. Not if we want results.”

“Tact,” he says, setting the papers down in a neat pile and nudging them back across the desk, back to Hamilton, “as well as a willingness to collaborate will get you very far in life, son. Especially if you choose to pursue a career in politics.” 

The room suddenly feels a bit warmer. Hamilton eyes Washington carefully.

“You never gave me feedback on the earlier drafts,” he says.

There’s something - not quite a smile - that passes over Washington’s face. Whatever it is, it makes Hamilton feel more at ease with the General than ever before. 

“And you never asked,” Washington says. “We are very different men, Hamilton, as I think we’ve both realized over the last two weeks. But I believe we can do great things together if you are willing to put in the effort.”

Hamilton straightens up in his chair and nods, locking eyes with Washington - he needs the General to know he means it. He never meant to hinder their relationship so early on, even in such a minor way. He’s used to being out for only himself. It’ll take some adjusting, of course, but he can’t ruin this chance he has to work alongside the man the entire nation has its eyes on. 

“Yes, Your Excellency. Of course I am.” Hamilton gathers his papers and stands, quickly saluting the General. “I’ll have this revised and back in your hands within the hour, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel,” Washington says, the new affection between them not lost in the sudden formality. “And, Hamilton?”

Hamilton, already on his way out the door, turns sharply on his heel. “Sir?”

Washington rises up from his desk, broad-shouldered and at least a head taller. Hamilton finds himself trying to stand a bit straighter. 

“When you joined my staff, you mentioned some friends of yours from the volunteer militia. Some young men who you thought might do well as aides?”

Hamilton’s heart sinks. “Am I not doing enough on my own, sir?”

Washington does smile at that. “You are doing the job of at least three men, Hamilton, and that’s already with a full staff. But as the war goes on, the need only increases. I’m hoping you can introduce me to them soon. I trust that any friends of yours will be just as valuable to me.”

Hamilton forces what he hopes is a convincing smile. Lafayette, he knows, will be ecstatic. He’s admired Washington from afar all this time, and Hamilton knows how eager he is to finally use his influence in his homeland to benefit the Continental Army. Hamilton’s not quite sure if he can see Mulligan as an aide, but his friend is cunning and always one step ahead - the General will find something for him.

It’s Laurens - John - who gives him pause. Whatever happened between them (a master of words he may be, but he still doesn’t have a name for it) has only grown. He has no doubt Laurens could do wonders as an aide to the General, but working together in such close proximity would have its challenges. They’d be under the watchful eye of Washington, the other officers and the rest of the aides-de-camp - especially during the approaching winter at Washington’s New Jersey headquarters. It’s no secret what they’ve done - what they continue to do - could at the very least cost them their careers. 

At the same time, not even their closest friends have noticed - a concern that caused them both a great deal of anxiety when they made the conscious decision to carry on after their first night together. And, it would be a relief to see Laurens removed from the dangers of combat. He is almost just as reckless as Hamilton. Hamilton has little room to judge, but he can’t ignore his own fears. 

“I am sure we can arrange a meeting, sir,” Hamilton says. This is what he and his friends set out to do - pave a path for a new nation. He won’t be responsible for holding them back for his own benefit. “I’ll speak with them later tonight.” 

 

* * *

 

**Four months ago**

 

The first morning after the first night is interrupted by a loud banging on Hamilton’s front door.

They’re in bed, bodies bare and blankets forgotten on the floor. It’s too warm. The air, thick with summer heat, makes the apartment feel as though it’s on fire.

Laurens nearly bites into Hamilton’s lip at the disturbance. He jerks back, his freckled face flushed.

“Are you expecting company?” he asks. His eyes dart to the hallway outside the bedroom and then back to Hamilton. “Alex?”

Hamilton does hear the knock - but it sounds distant, like it’s underwater. Laurens has control of all his thoughts, once again. It’s the panic in Laurens’ eyes that jolts him back to reality. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands, tying on a robe he finds draped over an armchair.

He closes the bedroom door and heads down the hallway. He could pretend he’s not home - that does cross his mind. He must look a mess, after all. But whoever is knocking is persistent.

He finds his neighbor on the other side of the door.

Mr. Fackler is a tall, slight man with a receding hairline and beady brown eyes. He’s kind, known to bring Hamilton extra cakes and pies from his wife’s bakery. This morning, though, he has Laurens’ jacket draped over his arm.

“Alexander. Good morning, sorry to wake you.” He nods down at the wrinkled jacket. “I found this on your doorstep on my way out this morning. Thought I’d noticed your friend Mr. Laurens in it before. I wanted to get it to you as soon as I could - he’s left some money in the pockets.”

Hamilton lets out a sharp, relieved laugh. “Yes, Mr. Fackler, thank you. Mr. Laurens and I were talking last night, and you know it’s been so warm out…he must have forgotten it.”

“Very well,” Fackler says, passing the jacket over and taking in Hamilton’s disheveled appearance. He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I remember when I was a bachelor, young man. Once you find yourself a wife, she won’t let you walk around like this.”

“I’m sure she won’t, Mr. Fackler. Have a good morning.”

Hamilton closes the door, his hand hovering over the lock. He steps away. He’s many things, but a scared man is certainly not one of them. 

 

* * *

 

“How do I look?”

They’re standing just outside Washington’s office. Laurens is dressed in his freshly laundered uniform. His unruly hair is neatly tied back. There are dark circles under his eyes, but there’s nothing they can do to fix that, now. 

“You look good,” Hamilton promises, his eyes trailing down Laurens’ chest. He fixes an undone button on his waistcoat and straightens out his jacket, relishing the warmth of Laurens’ body under his hands. It’s been awhile - they haven’t had much time or, frankly, the privacy to enjoy each other’s company. His hands linger a bit too long, so Laurens grabs them with his own and squeezes. 

Hamilton remembers how soft Laurens’ hands were when they first met, not too long ago. Now, just a few months in the service, they’re already dry and calloused. That doesn’t stop him from wanting to bring them up to his lips.

There’s been no talk of what this means for them - the lack of time and privacy, again, is partly to blame. But despite Hamilton’s own reservations, he knows he can’t let their secrets define them. They will simply have to be even more vigilant. 

They are finally escorted into Washington’s office, and Hamilton notes the General’s gentle smile when his eyes rest on the other man. Hamilton fights a smile of his own as he watches Laurens, without a hint of nerves, salute with practiced ease. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Excellency.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Washington says. “Take a seat, please. Both of you.”

Hamilton tries to steal a glance from Laurens as they each take a chair. But he’s zoned in on Washington, just as Lafayette and Mulligan were two days prior. Hamilton, though he’s not one for hero worship, understands. Opportunities to meet Washington, let alone work under him, are hard to come by these days. 

“I’m inclined to hire you on the spot. Though I suspect some might accuse me of favoring Hamilton and his friends,” Washington says, his dark eyes meeting Hamilton’s for a moment before flickering back to Laurens. “There’s something to be said about the four of you. Now, I know you fought bravely at the Battle of Brandywine. You’re fluent in French, which will be most essential moving forward. You’re a well-bred and well-educated young man, so I have no reason to doubt your writing and reading.”

Laurens nods eagerly. “Yes, sir. I think you would find me a vital addition to your staff.” 

“What reservations do you have?” Hamilton blurts out. His cheeks grow hot when Washington winces. “Sir. Laurens is more than qualified.”

“I don’t have any reservations, Hamilton, thank you,” Washington says, a sharp edge to his voice that makes Hamilton glare down at his lap. “The position is yours, Laurens, if you want it. But we are headed for a brutal winter, and I’ll need the staff with me at my headquarters throughout the season. It’s not a break - there will be long hours and unfortunately not much time spent alone.”

Hamilton’s heard this before. It’s kind of the General to warn them of what’s ahead, but Hamilton already knows Laurens’ answer. A winter spent together in close quarters sounds better than a winter spent apart. 

“That being said, Mrs. Washington will be joining us,” Washington continues, a private smile tugging on his lips at the mention of his wife. “We have always treated the aides as our own family. I think, if you accept the position, you won’t be dissatisfied.”  

Hamilton watches as a triumphant grin rapidly spreads across Laurens’ face.

“Yes, sir. I accept.”

Washington stands and Hamilton mirrors him. Laurens, still reeling, jumps to his feet. He grabs hold of Washington’s extended hand.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Colonel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm not a history buff, I just like the show. I did the bare minimum research.  
> -The plan is, moving forward, to somewhat combine the winters at Morristown and Valley Forge.  
> -I have about seven parts mapped out, but this chapter was a bit longer than intended so it might stretch out to eight.  
> -Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The threat of the first snowfall hangs in the dry air when they first step foot into Morristown. Their residence for the next several months is an impressive two-story, Georgian home. Under different circumstances - circumstances that didn’t involve the revolution’s commander-in-chief, his wife, their personal servants and his entire staff crammed under one roof - it would’ve been quite spacious.

The home itself is well-decorated and inviting, but the sleeping arrangements tell another story. It’s three men to a room. Hamilton’s heart sinks when he sees the space he and Laurens are assigned to share with another aide, their friend Richard Meade. Three thin mattresses with tattered quilts and flat pillows rest on battered wooden bed frames. Aside from a set of dresser drawers, there are no other furnishings to speak of. 

It’s going to be a long winter.

Almost as soon as the aides finish setting up a makeshift command center in the home’s parlor, Washington is overcome by a particularly nasty illness that leaves him weak and bedridden. A quiet uneasiness spreads through and settles over the home. Martha and his personal physician aren’t scheduled to arrive for another two weeks.

Two days pass before Hamilton is called into Washington’s bedroom to deliver a report. Sitting at the sniffling General’s bedside to read over correspondence and brief him on British movements feels uncomfortably informal at first, and even though Washington has noticeably improved since they saw each other last, Hamilton finds himself unable to get the image of his dying mother out of his head. 

It’s strange. Since her passing, he’s never longed for a parental figure or even a mentor, really. But Washington’s military family feels more and more like an actual family every day. He understands why the General does everything in his power to make sure the men are cared for and as comfortable as they can be in the midst of a war. All of them, including Washington, would lead unbearably lonely lives otherwise.

Hamilton doesn’t realize just how at home he feels with the General until he makes what should be an unforgivable mistake.

“Sir, your wife says she’s still a two day’s journey away.” It’s Hamilton’s greeting as he steps into the first floor study that serves as Washington’s office, eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He has a stack of opened envelopes clutched in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee for Washington in the other – it’s the General’s first day back on his feet, Hamilton assumes he’ll need a pick-me-up before they dive into work.

“You opened a letter from Martha?”

Hamilton freezes so suddenly that some of the coffee spills onto his hand. He inhales sharply, staring intently at a spot on the wall above Washington’s head before finding the courage to meet his eyes. Washington doesn’t appear to be affronted. Instead, he looks at Hamilton as if he’s awaiting a response to a question about the weather. Hamilton errs on the side of caution, anyway.

“Your Excellency,” he says, frantically dropping the envelopes on Washington’s desk and using the sleeve of his uniform to wipe the coffee mug clean. “I apologize, her letter arrived with the others, I didn’t think anything of it –”

“Alexander,” Washington cuts in. There’s only a hint of annoyance in his tone, but it’s enough to make Hamilton promptly fall silent. The General stands, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and using it to clean off the mug before gingerly setting it on his desk. “Your sleeve is not a rag.”

“Sir –”

“That’s enough,” Washington says, voice light and lips twisted in a wry smile as he sits back down. “Please, don’t make a habit of reading my personal letters. But there’s no need to be embarrassed. Now, have we received any updated enlistment numbers?”

 

* * *

 

“We have to be quick.”

Hamilton can’t quite see Laurens in the dim room, but he can hear his frustrated sigh. And he most certainly can feel his breath warm the skin on his neck. 

“Why do we have to be quick? Meade’s gone.” 

Laurens’ hand slips under Hamilton’s shirt without warning and Hamilton chokes back a gasp when his chilled fingers tease the sensitive skin on his stomach. Hamilton squeezes his eyes shut. His mind races. Laurens is right. Meade, sent away on horseback to meet Lady Washington and her escorts just outside Morristown, won’t be back for at least another two hours. This frigid, bare room - as ugly as it is - could be their refuge.

But Hamilton is tuned into the noises surrounding them. The servants are scurrying about downstairs, preparing for Lady Washington’s welcoming party. He can hear a muffled conversation between their fellow aides in a neighboring bedroom - the walls are so thin. It feels too risky.

“I want this,” Hamilton assures him. He places one hand over Laurens’ where it rests on his stomach. The other ghosts across his cheek before falling to his neck, just under his chin. He can feel the thud of his pulse. “But I can’t be gone for too long. There are a few business matters Washington wants to take care of before his wife arrives.”

“So let him find Lafayette,” Laurens huffs, pulling back, studying him. Hamilton meets his eyes as his own try to adjust to the darkened room. “You’re always so quick to be at his side.”

“He’s my commander,” Hamilton says, hand dropping from Laurens’ neck. “Without Washington I’m nothing after we win this war. He’s given me his trust. He’s important to me.”

This is unlike Laurens, Hamilton thinks, but how can he know - they’ve never had such a tense exchange. The room is silent now. The neighboring aides left at some point, unnoticed. He can almost hear Laurens nervously swallow before closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Hamilton’s. 

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Washington’s important to me, too. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It’s just - in this house all winter - it’ll be better once we’re out of here, don’t you think?”

Hamilton considers this. The work has been nonstop and his privacy nearly nonexistent since he joined Washington’s staff. Even before, as a soldier in thevolunteer militia, his time alone with Laurens had been limited. He doesn’t know what’ll happen when Spring arrives, but he does know no matter what - even when this war is won - they can never go back to where they started. Laurens is a smart man; he has to know this, too.  

In lieu of an answer Hamilton kisses him for the first time in days. Laurens’ lips part, pulling him in deeper. 

“Quickly,” Hamilton says again, distracted as he tugs at the front of Laurens’ trousers. Laurens’ lips are all over him - the corner of his mouth, his eyelids, the sides of his nose. 

He wants more than anything to completely succumb to this, but a heavy footfall in the hallway overcomes his senses. He feels a sickening drop in his stomach. The heat building in his body vanishes like a flame in a downpour. He pushes Laurens back by the shoulders, sending him stumbling to the other side of the small room. 

The door creaks open and lamplight from the hallway spills in. It’s Mulligan standing in the threshold. 

“Are you two coming downstairs?” Mulligan asks, appearing entirely unfazed. A wave of relief washes over Hamilton. Worse people could’ve caught them in this position, that’s for certain. If Mulligan notices their flushed faces and disheveled uniforms, he doesn’t show it.

“We were just getting ready,” Laurens lies, tucking a curl back in place. Hamilton catches the twitch in his smile. “We’ll be down soon.”

Though he looms over almost everyone Mulligan has, at heart, always been more gentle than intimidating. He smiles back and nods to Hamilton. “Washington is asking for you.”

 

* * *

 

Hamilton suspects Martha Washington was even more of a beauty in her younger days. She’s a lively, petite woman with delicate features, rich brown eyes and dark hair laced with silver strands. She doesn’t seem at all worn down by her journey from Virginia - after taking the time to change into fresh clothes, she returns to the main room to greet the staff with contagious enthusiasm and a maternal warmth that makes Hamilton’s heart ache.   

“George has written about you,” she says when they meet, a smirk on her lips as she looks him up and down. 

Hamilton wrinkles his nose and grimaces playfully. Martha laughs. “And it’s all been positive, I hope?”

“He’s told me on multiple occasions how lucky he is to have you as an aide, and that your work is unparalleled. He says you’re a very promising young man,” Martha assures him, absently smoothing a wrinkle in his sleeve. “It’s a pleasure to finally put a face with the name.”

“Likewise,” Hamilton says, grinning from the praise. He kisses her offered hand. “I’ve been looking forward to our meeting. I didn’t know I came up in your hus- His Excellency’s letters.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Alexander,” Martha says, linking their arms. “He’s grown rather fond of you. Now, would you escort me to dinner?”

Martha’s welcoming party breathes life into the aides. Perhaps it’s all the wine, but Hamilton feels completely at ease for the first time since their arrival in Morristown. He even lets a tipsy Laurens, seated at his side at the dinner table, rest a hand on his thigh as they eat. 

Hamilton can’t recall a time the General, well into his own bottle of wine, looked so pleased. He and Martha sit shoulder to shoulder and angled attentively toward Lafayette, who is busy telling a story Hamilton can’t quite hear over all the other conversations around him. But whatever the story is, it makes Martha laugh so hard that by the end of it she’s wiping tears from her eyes.

“It looks like the marquis is well on his way to stealing your spot as Washington’s favorite,” Laurens whispers, voice dark but teasing. His lips brush the shell of Hamilton’s ear. He shivers.

It takes an hour or two - Hamilton loses track of time - for the dining room to clear out. After Washington dismisses the servants for the evening, most of the staff stumbles off to bed. Lafayette bids Martha a good night with a _bonne nuit_ and a kiss on each cheek. She embraces him before Mulligan drags him away, Washington watching with an amused smile.

Hamilton remembers exchanging goodnights with the Washingtons. He remembers a tipsy Martha, cheeks as red as her wine, standing on her toes to peck his cheek before being led up the stairs by her husband. It’s all quite clear - he isn’t that inebriated - but he doesn’t remember what led him to digging out his key to Washington’s empty office and pulling Laurens inside.

He supposes it’s the nature of the evening; the excitement of Martha’s arrival, the way his body buzzes from the alcohol - not unlike the way it did his first night spent with Laurens in his cramped New York apartment. If not now, when? He wouldn’t dare any other day.

Laurens is shedding layers the moment Hamilton locks the door. 

“Washington lets you have a key to his office?” he asks, unfastening his trousers. “I suppose Lafayette still has his work cut out for him.”

Hamilton smirks and grabs hold of Laurens’ shoulders, pushing him until his back meets the wall. 

He’s taking Laurens into his mouth, hands planted firmly on each hip, knees already sore from the wooden floorboards, when the lock clicks open. Before he even has time to place the sound - before he even has time to jump up from his knees - Washington is there.

He’s never been truly afraid of getting caught - anxious, absolutely, but never afraid. He just assumed he’d never be careless enough to find himself in this position, that he’d always cover his bases and be able to protect himself and Laurens. It’s not as if he hasn’t wondered how this thing between them would end - through one or both of their marriages, maybe, or perhaps they’d somehow beat the odds and live out their days as bachelors. But this wasn’t part of his plan.

Washington stands frozen in the doorway, a book in his hand. Hamilton wonders distantly if he came downstairs to return it to his office. 

“Sir,” he says, climbing to his feet. Shame washes over him at the sound of his own voice, raw and strained. Laurens remains still against the wall, eyes fixed on the General.

“Get out of here,” Washington spits, his shock replaced with a rage that lights up his eyes. Hamilton thinks he’s shaking, just slightly. “Out. _Now._ ”

There is no way around this - no words that will save them. He can’t talk himself out. Tears prick at Hamilton’s eyes when he realizes Washington is staring down at him not only with unbridled anger, but with disgust. Any love the General once felt for him is gone, almost as quickly as it came. 

“Go!” Washington booms when he doesn’t move. Hamilton flinches and then Laurens is behind him in an instant with a grip on his bicep tight enough to bruise. The door slams behind them. The dark house grows quiet.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm not a history buff, I just like the show. I did the bare minimum research.  
> -I didn't quite update this as quickly as I would've like, it was a busy holiday!  
> -Thanks for coming back and reading! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

 

“I have been much indebted to the kindness of the General, and he was an aegis very essential to me.”

–Alexander Hamilton, January 2, 1800

 

* * *

 

There’s nowhere for them to go but up to their beds. Hamilton considers waiting for Washington to come out of his office - but for what? Nothing he can say will change what the General saw. Their fate is already determined. They’ll be dismissed in the morning, lives ruined - perhaps even subjected to a criminal trial, depending on how severely Washington chooses to punish them.

Hamilton doesn’t sleep at all that night. Judging by the rustling blankets and tossing and turning he hears from the other side of the room, he guesses it’s the same for Laurens. Meade snores softly from his bed, no doubt in a deep sleep after the evening’s festivities. But Hamilton doesn’t dare speak and disrupt the stillness in the room. 

Their friends will know. The rest of the staff. The entire Continental Army - no, perhaps even the entire nation will find out the truth behind why two of General George Washington’s trusted aides-de-camp were sent away in the midst of a war.

No, there is nothing Hamilton can do or say. No explanation or apology will save them. They are powerless. 

They head downstairs for breakfast with the rest of the staff when the sun rises. It’s just like any other morning but Washington - always impeccably dressed and well-rested for such an early hour - isn’t waiting for them at the table. Instead Martha sits in his spot, pouring herself a mug of coffee. She’s dressed in a plain, brown dress with her ink-dark hair swept over one shoulder. A seemingly permanent smile curls at her lips. She’s less glamorous but no less warm and radiant than she was last night. Despite a nausea that won’t seem to lift, Hamilton is immediately calmed by her presence.  

“Lady Washington,” Hamilton greets her with a nod, the question of Washington’s whereabouts on his lips. But he doesn’t say another word. The fond smile Martha gives him proves the General has told her nothing. She doesn’t know - at least for now. She’ll never look at him the same again, he thinks. 

“My husband was too tired to join us for breakfast this morning,” Martha says as the aides finish filing in and finding their seats. Hamilton looks at Laurens from across the table - his brown eyes dull, his lips twisted into a frown. Laurens doesn’t look back.

“Is he well? This is unlike him,” Lafayette says, voicing what everyone else at the table is thinking. Washington, always punctual and ritualistic, rarely strays from routine. Hamilton finds himself suddenly focused on the plate of food in front of him.

“He’s all right, just very tired from last night,” Martha assures Lafayette. “He told me to let all of you know he’ll be joining you later in the morning. And Lafayette, dear, he wants you to have a draft of updated enlistment numbers compared to available rations ready for him by noon.”

Hamilton’s stomach drops and he feels every pair of eyes in the room on him. He tries to keep his expression balanced and unfazed, but inside he feels sick. 

“That’s always been Alexander’s job,” Lafayette says uncertainly, looking to Hamilton for an explanation. “Why me?”

Martha stabs her eggs with a fork and waves a hand, dismissive. “He didn’t say, but don’t worry yourself. Perhaps he thought Alex deserved a break today.”

Or, Hamilton thinks, Washington’s already replaced him.

“You do look very tired,” Martha says, clicking her tongue and passing the coffee pot down the table, toward him. “Too much wine last night?”

Across the table, Laurens hasn’t touched his breakfast. Hamilton’s is growing cold in front of him. He clears his throat, willing his voice not to crack.  

“I believe so, Lady Washington.”

 

* * *

 

Hamilton watches the season’s first snow blanket the frozen lawn from his bedroom window. For maybe the first time in his short life, he has no desire to work. There are other tasks he could turn to - not just the enlistment and rations statistics. The other aides have been slowly losing steam. Someone should pick up their slack. Yet, Hamilton can’t seem to find the will to move from his spot by the window.

Laurens sits behind him on the bed, silent. Hamilton doesn’t think either of them have ever been this quiet - he wouldn’t even notice Laurens if it weren’t for his distorted reflection in the window and the warm hand resting on top of his own. Hamilton almost laughs at the realization that, without even trying, they are finally alone.

“We need to talk about this, John,” Hamilton says, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the outside world and turning his body to face Laurens. The bed creaks under his weight and Laurens’ hand tightens on top of his.

Not for the first time, he’s reminded of his love for Laurens. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling anymore - not like it once was, when his mother’s affection was all he could recall. Yet it’s a sensation that still catches him by surprise, sometimes. He can’t exactly pinpoint when it happened. Somewhere between their long nights studying in candlelit rooms and the sweltering summer days spent exploring the city, he fell in love. 

“I’m not afraid,” Laurens says, his voice steady and determined. “Whatever happens will happen. But if we stay together - if we’re sent back to New York, or wherever…we can figure it out.”

“We might not be so lucky,” Hamilton reminds him. “Going back to New York would be the best outcome. But we have to be prepared for anything.”

Laurens sets his jaw and nods, his kind eyes softening. His response is almost a whisper. “Just don’t leave, Alex.”

Hamilton flips his hand over so their fingers can intertwine. He knows Laurens well enough now that sometimes it’s as if their minds are one. He knows what he’s thinking - if they’re not separated by the law, Hamilton will resent him for his part in ending their careers. This will inevitably tear them apart.       

“I won’t leave,” Hamilton says, knowing it’s a vow he might not be able to keep. “Not if I can help it.”

Laurens nods, and Hamilton senses him searching for any sign of uncertainty. He’s satisfied with whatever he finds. He leans in and Hamilton meets him halfway, capturing his lips roughly, as if a kiss might solidify his promise.

A soft knock at the door sends them to opposite sides of the bed with pounding hearts. But to their relief, only Lafayette steps in. He wordlessly closes the door behind him and turns to Hamilton, eyes dark with worry, too distracted by whatever's on his mind to take note of their flushed faces.

“Alexander, I cannot apologize enough for this morning.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, between Hamilton and Laurens. “There was no reason for the General to give me your work. It is not my place to ask him why, but I still feel as if I’ve overstepped.”

“No,” Hamilton says when he catches his breath, placing a hand on Lafayette’s forearm. “This isn’t your fault. Try not to worry. Most of that assignment is complete already. You can find the notes in my desk if you need them.”

The corner of Lafayette’s mouth twitches up into a half-smile. “Of course it’s complete.”

“You’ve seen the General today?” Laurens asks, glancing at Hamilton over Lafayette’s shoulder. “Is he well?”

Lafayette scowls. “He’s scattered and distracted. I suggested he take the day to rest, allow me to oversee operations in his place, but he refused. I don’t know what’s happened, but he’s not himself.” He shrugs, resigned to confusion. “Perhaps he’s just happy to have his wife here for the winter.”

Hamilton wants to confirm Lafayette’s guess, take away any suspicion, but it would be useless – he’ll find out the truth soon enough.

There’s a lengthy, uncomfortable pause. “He did say he’d like to see you and Laurens in his study before dinner. Do you know why, Alex?” Lafayette asks carefully, eyes boring into Hamilton, searching for an answer.

Hamilton casts his eyes downward. It’s suddenly difficult to breathe. He wonders if he should tell Lafayette now, as a courtesy, and save him from finding out with everyone else.

“We’ve had that meeting scheduled for awhile now,” Laurens says, the lie coming so easily he almost has Hamilton fooled. “We’ll be sure to see him as planned.”

Lafayette’s gaze shifts to Laurens for a moment and then he smiles, convinced. “Very well. I’ll be sure to let him know.”

Laurens’ own smile wavers when his eyes lock with Hamilton’s.  _I’m not afraid._ Hamilton repeats Laurens’ words to himself, over and over again. There’s no time for fear – not if they plan to survive this.

 

* * *

 

Hamilton has to force himself to look at Washington when he steps into his office. The bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders tell Hamilton the General hasn’t slept much, either. The rage that possessed him last night has been replaced by something Hamilton can’t quite name – sadness, disappointment? Laurens closes the door and stands at Hamilton’s side, waiting for Washington to speak. The General takes a moment to look them over, his lips set in a hard line.

“Will both of you please take a seat?” he asks, pulling his own chair out and settling down at his desk.

He tears his eyes away from Hamilton and pours a golden-brown whiskey into three glasses set atop scattered papers and files. He hands one to Hamilton and the other to Laurens when they sit. Hamilton mutters a quiet “thank you,” clutching the glass in both hands and resting it in his lap. He doubts alcohol will do anything to calm his nerves. Washington, however, takes a long sip before he addresses them.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I – ” Hamilton looks at Laurens, then back to Washington. There’s truly no way to ease into this discussion.“Sir?”

“It’s not for a report. That’s not why I’m asking,” Washington says, his voice strained and tired. “But I need to know some of the details so I can determine the best way to handle this.”

Laurens’ hand tightens around his chair’s arm rest. “Sir, if I may ask – ”

“Neither of you are going to be punished,” Washington interrupts. “Not by me. But you both must understand that you’ve committed a crime that’s serious enough to warrant a death sentence in some cases. Believe me, I’ve weighed every option and considered each outcome.”

Relief washes over Hamilton like a wave. He lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Your Excellency – ”

“I’m not done. This isn’t something I take lightly. If anyone else were to find out, you’d run the risk of tarnishing not only your names, but my name and the reputation of this entire staff and its cause – did you even stop to think?” An edge of anger creeps back into his tone. “Did it ever occur to you how your actions could harm us?”

“Sir – ”

“A soldier’s life is lonely – I know this more than the two of you do, and I don’t doubt what you’ve done is common among the men in the Continental Army,” Washington says. “But it was rash. It was careless.”

“Your Excellency,” Hamilton tries again, his face growing hot with shame. “John and I – this wasn’t a random act of loneliness and desperation. We…” He’s not sure how to say it. He looks to Laurens for help.

“We’ve been…involved for just over six months. But never here, in this home. Not until last night, anyway,” Laurens says awkwardly, eyes flickering over to Hamilton before falling down to his lap. “This isn’t fleeting.”

Washington understands now. Hamilton can see it in the way his eyes widen with a realization Hamilton had long ago – there’s no true happy ending for them, regardless of the path they choose. Hamilton – Laurens, too – expected more outrage and revulsion from their commander. Instead, he finds himself moved by Washington’s humanity.

“We never meant to disrespect or hurt you,” Hamilton says, swallowing back a sudden surge of sadness.

“Don’t believe this is only about my status, son.”

“It would be a good enough reason to keep this a secret, sir,” Hamilton says, frustrated with the way his voice breaks. 

Washington frowns. “No it wouldn’t. The two of you are essential to this staff and important to me. I could never willingly put either of you at risk. We’re a family here.”

Hamilton digs his teeth into his bottom lip as his eyes grow wet. He knows they don’t deserve the General’s mercy. At his side, Laurens is smiling.

“Understand, though, that my protection can only stretch so far,” Washington warns. “There’s not much I can do if someone else finds out. Now, you could put an end to this thing between the two of you – at least until you are relieved from my command.”

Hamilton expected as much. “If that’s all you’re asking of us, Your Excellency, we will.”

Laurens shifts in his seat and nods his agreement. It’s a small price to pay for what Washington is doing for them.  

“But I also know that’s not entirely likely. There’s a long winter ahead,” Washington says. “So, starting tomorrow, you won’t be sharing a room with Meade any longer. I’ve decided to send him back to New York City on an assignment with Mulligan.”

“Mulligan’s going back to New York?” Laurens asks, frowning. “What assignment?”

“I can’t disclose that yet,” Washington says with a small smile. “But he’ll be safe, and I think Meade will be an adequate partner. I would hope that some privacy might help prevent an incident like last night’s.”

“Sir, I – ” Hamilton begins, flustered. “You don’t have to – we’re not – ”

“Alex,” Washington stops him. “It’s going to be OK.”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton says, suppressing an urge to leap to his feet and throw his arms around the General. He hardly remembers what it’s like to be cared for so unconditionally. “And, sir, will my work still be the same?”

“Yes, of course,” Washington says after a beat, taking a moment to make the connection. “I just needed the day to think. You understand. Lafayette will go back to his regular duties tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

Laurens shoots Hamilton a pleased smile before turning his attention back to Washington. “I’m sure I can speak for both of us when I say how incredibly grateful we are, sir. We’re forever in your debt. ”

Washington chuckles at that and polishes off his drink. The tension in the room is long gone. “I’m only treating you as I would anyone I care for. I don’t claim to understand, but I will do what I can to make sure nothing happens to you while you’re a part of this family. But you also must do your part.”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton says. When he finally takes a sip of his own drink, he realizes his hands are shaking. _I’m not afraid,_ he repeats again. He knows they’ll be safe with Washington.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -First of all, I want to apologize for taking nearly two weeks to update. This time of year is crazy. I also cared a lot about getting this chapter just right, so it required a little more research and some rewrites. I still don't think it's perfect, but there comes a time when you just have to let go!
> 
> -If it's not obvious, Mulligan is being sent off to do spy stuff.
> 
> -Originally this was going to be 8 parts total. Who knows at this point. I have a beginning, middle and end. We'll get there eventually. 
> 
> -Your feedback is important to me, and also motivates me to not take forever and a day to update. Thanks so much for your kind words. 
> 
> -As always, historical accuracy isn't my strong suit. Sorry to all you history buffs. 
> 
> -I'm playing around with some ideas for Laurens. Whether that involves a chapter from his POV or additional flashbacks to an earlier point in their relationship, I'm not sure. Let me know your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This chapter wasn't part of my original outline, but I wanted to break up a bit of the action with a transitional chapter and also throw in a section from Laurens' POV. Hope you enjoy!

Winter is hell. The snow doesn’t seem to stop once it starts, and the temperature falls with it. Each passing week brings new challenges, from something as simple as frozen pen ink to hundreds and thousands of deserters across the Continental Army. 

Their meals - eggs, meats, fruits and vegetables, wines and coffees - turn into dry toast and water. They hear rumors of troops camped around the headquarters cooking the rubber soles off their boots for food. Hamilton hears an even worse rumor about dogs and horses. He keeps that to himself.

Washington wants to send Martha back to Mount Vernon. But she won’t leave, and the trip back to Virginia would be too perilous even if she agreed. He confides in Hamilton when they work alone late at night, when professional boundaries seem to slip away along with the sunlight. This brutal winter is bringing them closer together in ways Hamilton never imagined or, frankly, thought he wanted. 

Laurens sleeps at his side every night now, crammed against him in their tiny bed, bones jutting out. It doesn’t matter how many quilts they pile on or how close they hold each other. They spend their nights shivering and sleepless and their days huddled over their desks in the parlor with the other aides, dreaming of spring and scribbling out pleas for local farmers to share whatever’s left over from the last harvest.

“We finally have some good news to report tonight, my friends.”

It’s nearly one in the morning yet Lafayette, snow dusting his boots and hair, shows no signs of exhaustion as he ghosts into Washington’s office. Hamilton looks up from the documents he’s reviewing with the General and can’t help but smile at the sight of his friend proudly waving a stack of opened envelopes.

“We could certainly use it,” Washington says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes.

Lafayette perches himself on the edge of Washington’s desk and drops two letters in front of him with a grin.

“Mulligan and Meade have arrived in New York safely. They’ve also made arrangements to send along additional clothing and medical supplies with the assistance of patriots living within the city. It won’t be much, but it will be better than what we have now, sir.”

Washington frowns down at the papers. “What good will fresh clothes do if my men have starved to death?” 

Lafayette’s smile falls. “Sir, the farmers will comply. Congress is set to send new rations at the top of the month. Don’t despair.”

“The first of the month is still two and a half weeks away,” Hamilton points out. “But Lafayette is right, Your Excellency, it’s better than nothing.”

Washington nods, lips twisted, annoyed. He carries the weight of so many lives on his shoulders - not just his troops, but the civilians who look to him to win this war. Even though he was hired to relieve the General of some of his necessary burdens, Hamilton is at a loss. His talents only reach so far. 

“These setbacks cannot be solved overnight,” Hamilton tries again, looking up at Lafayette and willing him to chime in. He has a way of getting through to Washington. Usually. “There’s still a lot of work to be done, I just need a little more time - ” 

“Yes, a lot of work,” Lafayette cuts him off with a cold glare, sliding off the desk and circling behind Washington’s chair. He rests his hands on the General’s broad shoulders and squeezes, rolling a thumb into the back of each blade. Hamilton is certain no one else on Washington’s staff could get away with half of what Lafayette does, but the marquis has pushed himself so aggressively into the good graces of the General and Martha that this has become almost commonplace. 

“Work that can be discussed in the morning when you two have slept,” Lafayette continues. “Won’t your wife be missing you, Your Excellency?”

Washington chuckles at that and pats Lafayette’s hand where it's curled over his shoulder. “Has she sent you to do her work for her? We’ll be off to bed soon. Thank you for your hard work today.”

“Madame Washington and myself have a mutual concern - your sleep schedule.” Lafayette smirks at Hamilton and heads for the door. “And we agree Alexander can’t be the best influence.”

The door clicks softly behind him and Washington’s shakes his head, smiling to himself as he sorts through the ink-stained letters scattered across his desk. 

“I know Lafayette can be rather informal by American standards, Your Excellency,” Hamilton says around a yawn. His stomach growls and he rests a hand over his abdomen. There'd only been enough food for Martha at dinner.  

“Well, you all have your quirks,” Washington says, leaning back in his chair and resting his eyes. “Some more difficult to manage than others, though I’ve noticed you’re significantly quieter when confined for the winter.”

“It’s my job to make your life easier, sir. Though I still maintain Grayson is a horrible speller and an embarrassment to your staff.” Washington snorts and Hamilton pauses for a moment, trying to read his commander before continuing. “I know I’ve inconvenienced you in other ways.”

It’s been weeks since they vowed to keep Washington’s discovery a secret, with not a word spoken since. And while nothing on the surface has changed – Washington still regards him with a familiar mix of exasperation and favoritism – Hamilton knows this newfound knowledge is just another burden the General carries with him every day.

“Mmm,” Washington hums sleepily. He opens his eyes, looking to the closed door for a moment before turning his attention back to Hamilton. “Could I ask you a question?”

Though their bond has become stronger Washington has managed to purposefully steer clear of his  private life, much to Hamilton’s relief. The General already knows more than he needs to, and Hamilton’s never claimed to be an open book. There are some pages he won’t allow even Laurens to turn. 

Yet, Hamilton can’t bring himself to deny a request from his commander.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” He bites the inside of his cheek and waits.

“You and Laurens,” Washington begins, fiddling with the corner of an envelope on his desk. “You were involved prior to enlisting?”

“Yes, sir. Shortly after my arrival in New York,” Hamilton answers quietly, elaborating despite his better judgment. The crackling fire is doing very little to keep them warm, but at least it fills the lengthy silence. 

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Washington says eventually, searching Hamilton for any sign of reluctance.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Hamilton assures him. “But speaking about this so candidly…I’m not used to it, sir.”

He wants to say it goes against everything he's learned about self-preservation. But that would be an insult to the man who has gone above and beyond to shield him. 

“There’s one thing I want to understand.” Washington pauses a moment longer, visibly uneasy, before clearing his throat. “When two men have this…attraction to one another, as you and John Laurens do, one that’s kept you both together for this long…is it similar to a bond between a man and his wife?”

Hamilton’s never quite considered this. He knows he loves Laurens more than he’s ever loved another person. But their lives together, no matter how they play out, will never be conventional. It almost feels silly to draw that comparison. 

“I’m not so sure, sir,” Hamilton answers after a moment. “There’s no promise of land or money like there is with a marriage. It’s almost a deeper connection.”

Hamilton stops at that, uncertain if he’s crossed a line. The details of Washington’s marriage to Martha, one of the wealthiest widows in Virginia, aren’t a secret – though it’s evident to anyone who meets the couple that theirs is not a passionless union. 

“But as for a man and a woman who stay together for love…I would say there’s no real difference between me and John and you and your wife, Your Excellency,” he continues. “Only years.”

Washington frowns, and it's clear that he's unsure if he should be offended or not. Hamilton can’t blame him – it’s a difficult concept to accept as a truth when the rest of the world would rather call for your death than consider it a possibility.

“I hope I haven’t insulted you,” Hamilton adds.

“You haven’t,” Washington says with just a hint of a strained smile, rising from his desk and picking up his candle. “You answered my questions. Now, perhaps we should take the marquis’ advice and head to bed.”

Hamilton nods and silently gathers up his own papers, forming a neat stack. The General wordlessly rests a hand on his back and guides him out of the darkened office. Hamilton relaxes under his touch - it’s a welcome reminder that, here, he is safe.  

 

* * *

 

Laurens remembers life before his mother’s passing fairly well – she was a gentle woman who took great pride in her family, making certain her young sons always had the best tutors and clothes South Carolina could offer. Laurens wonders if he might have found her image-obsessed and insecure, had she lived into his own adulthood. Instead, he remembers her as nothing but doting and warm.

His childhood after her death is clouded with unhappiness. Between his father's depression and his own loneliness, there’s not much he cares to remember. Yet, he vividly recalls the day he realized he wasn’t like other boys.

He was about 12 or 13 at the time and James, the only son of one of his father’s house slaves, was not much older. Laurens would often sneak out after his daily French lessons to play with the other child on the banks of a muddy creek just behind the stables. He’d carefully take off his polished shoes, roll up his pant legs, and he and James would run through the shallow water, swatting at each other with sticks they imagined as swords. For about an hour each day, he didn’t think of his mother, gone forever, or his father’s plans to send him across the sea to England. James was a welcome distraction.

Their first and only kiss started with a _“have you ever been kissed, John?”_ and ended with James’ mother dragging her boy back to the house, throwing terrified looks at her master’s son over her shoulder. Laurens remained by the water’s edge, frozen in place. He never uttered a word.

There’d been women since – women he lusted after, maybe even loved – but never a man. He thought maybe James had been an exception. Until he met Alex.

“You have to eat more.”

Hamilton glares down at his bowl, lips pursed, acting too much like a child for Laurens’ taste. The meal, a bland mix of flour and cold water, certainly isn’t ideal. But for now it’s all that’s available.

“Alex, please,” Laurens tries again. They’re the only two men in the emptied dining room. Hamilton, weak with hunger, was sent away after Lafayette noticed his trembling writing hand. “You’ve not even finished half of it.”

“I can’t eat this,” Hamilton says. He drops his spoon in the bowl and pushes it away. “It’s going to make me sick.”

Laurens breathes out through his nose, slow, willing himself to be patient. “This is what we have. You’ll be no use to any of us if you’re too fragile to work.”

Hamilton’s nostrils flare and Laurens almost smiles. He’s struck a nerve. Hamilton eyes the bowl again and then digs his heels into the floor, pushing back his chair and jumping to his feet. Laurens is at his side instantly, arms out, ready if he loses his balance.

“Alexander,” he warns, steadying Hamilton by resting a hand on the small of his back. “You’ll just be sent away again.”

“I’m not some delicate - ”

“Alex!” Laurens snaps, more heat in his voice than intended. It’s enough to get Hamilton’s attention, at least. “You’re pale. You’re trembling - everyone’s noticed. If you won’t eat, would you at least rest?”

“I can’t just stop working.”

“If you won’t do it for yourself, won’t you at least do it for me?”

Hamilton softens. Laurens feels his cheeks grow hot under his steady gaze.

“You know that’s not fair, John.”

Laurens looks down at his scuffed boots, suddenly finding it difficult to meet Hamilton's eyes. Hamilton has a way of making him feel completely bare and vulnerable, when he wants to. He's trying to collect his thoughts when he hears a familiar footfall accompanied by creaking floorboards. 

“Hamilton?”

Laurens whips his head around to find Washington standing in the doorway, looking like a ghost in the afternoon sunlight pouring through the dining room windows. For the first time, Laurens realizes just how much their food shortage has devastated even the highest-ranking officer in the Continental Army. The General’s trousers are baggy in the thighs. His face, usually rounded and soft, is hollow and angular. There’s a dull, gray tinge to his dark skin. Laurens tries not to stare.   

“Sir,” Hamilton responds, straightening his slumped shoulders and looking just as worried as Laurens feels.  

“I need you in my office with your reports in five minutes, son. We don’t have time to waste,” Washington says, grim, before disappearing into the hallway and giving Laurens no time to object.

He feels Hamilton’s chilled fingertips tickle the inside of his wrist before tracing down into his palm. He squeezes the knuckles. It’s an apology without the words.

“I have to go,” Hamilton says, stepping away. “I'll eat whatever you put in front of me tonight. All right?”

Laurens doesn’t speak. There's a part of him that wonders if he'll even see Hamilton leave Washington's office tonight, or if he'll just feel him crawling into bed at some ungodly hour. He only offers a tight smile and a nod, and Hamilton’s off, trailing behind the General.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I love toying with this idea that, if Hamilton had a relationship with Laurens, it probably would not have been all that different from his relationship with Eliza (who will be making her appearance relatively soon). Hamilton's ambition and obsession with being remembered is such a defining trait, and it's so interwoven with his relationship with Washington. I wanted to make sure I kept that sort of tug-of-war between duty and love that's prevalent in the show. It'll come into play more as we continue! 
> 
> -As always, thank you for your support!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been awhile. Life has been crazy, but it's winding down. From here on out I shouldn't be going nearly two months without an update. This is somewhat of a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to leave you hanging much longer. As always, combined timelines and historical inaccuracies (did the Schuylers have a winter home conveniently located near the Ford mansion? Probably not) are just going to be a thing with this story. Enjoy!

“Under no circumstances can we have a cat in this house.”

Hamilton looks from the General over to the skinny, orange tabby in Lafayette’s arms. He’s forced to bite back a smile. The little cat, with his matted fur and dirty, snow-dusted paws, looks entirely displeased. A low growl rumbles in his throat and Lafayette quickly tries to muffle it with the inside of his elbow, lest the General think the newest inhabitant of the Ford home is anything but well-behaved.

“With all due respect, Your Excellency, I can't throw him back outside. Not in this cold.” The cat dodges Lafayette’s hand and hisses as he moves to scratch his ears.

Washington rolls his eyes up to his office ceiling before directing a bemused gaze over to Hamilton, who responds with a shrug of his shoulder. He wouldn’t mind having a cat around to entertain them and keep them company through the rest of the winter. This particular tabby reminds him so much of a family of copper-colored cats that played beneath the docks of his coastal town. Not all memories of his former home are painful.

“We can barely feed ourselves, let alone a pet,” Washington sighs, his resolve showing no sign of wavering, though Hamilton knows it pains him to upset the marquis. Grim, he pushes his chair back from his desk and stands. “If you don’t want to take him back outside, I’ll do it for you.”

Lafayette’s face falls. But he obediently hands the cat over to his commander with a quiet _oui monsieur_ , grimacing when the animal lets out another low, angry growl as he’s transported into Washington’s arms.

And then something happens. The cat begins to purr and nuzzle the General’s shirtsleeve. Washington frowns but holds the cat a little closer, allowing him to curl up against his chest and doze off, still purring contently. Lafayette’s eyes light up.

“He seems to like you,” he says with a playful smirk. “He liked Madame Washington, too. She seemed quite keen on keeping him.”

“You brought him to Martha,” Washington sighs, shaking his head and scratching underneath the cat’s chin. Hamilton catches him smiling as the cat leans into his touch. “I doubt she’d forgive me. Very well. He can stay. Perhaps he’ll catch some of the mice and rats.”

Washington sets him down on the floor and brushes off his waistcoat as the cat rubs against his legs, leaving another trail of fur. Hamilton is quick to move an inkwell out of the cat’s path when he leaps onto the desk, sprawling out on top of a stack of letters.

“What will you name him, Sir?” Hamilton asks, running a hand down the cat’s spine, pulling away when the cat growls and moves to nip at his fingers.

“Let’s leave that to Martha,” Washington says. “And Lafayette, you’ll be giving him a bath.”

 

* * *

 

With the exception of a fresh delivery of food and supplies, nearly two uneventful weeks pass. So uneventful, that Martha Washington’s new cat remains unnamed. But more importantly, Hamilton’s been spending less and less time at the General’s side.

It’s almost to the point he feels like he’s being deliberately avoided and ignored. There are many closed-door meetings with other officers, and letters and documents passed through Washington’s office that he won’t let anyone else touch. Hamilton's offers to help are always met with a distracted, “not with this, Alex.” When the General asks for Lafayette’s assistance, he assumes he has an in - and is mistaken.

“It’s a matter that you would call…confidential,” Lafayette tests the unfamiliar word one afternoon when Hamilton has him cornered in the parlor. “The General is under a great deal of stress. I believe he wants as few people involved as possible. He's only asked for my advice, nothing else.”

Hamilton huffs and Lafayette smiles wearily, swatting him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, _mon ami._ You know my loyalty must lie with General Washington first and foremost. But this is nothing for you to fret over.”

It’s Laurens who puts him on edge.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with us?” Laurens asks when they’re alone in their room, that same afternoon. “Right, Alex?”

“Washington wouldn’t turn on us,” Hamilton says with finality as he paces the wooden floorboards. It would be out of character - Lafayette would not have tried to put his mind at ease. Still, something isn’t right.

He’s able to relax at dinner when he’s greeted with a hug from Lady Washington and an invitation to sit at their side of the table.

“We’ve been invited to a party,” she tells Hamilton with a wink, nudging her husband with her elbow. “Well, the two of us and whatever staff we choose to bring along. General Schuyler is hosting at his winter home.”

Hamilton looks to Washington and decides to test the waters. “Will I be accompanying you? Sir?”

“You’re welcome to,” Washington says, tilting his head in Martha’s direction. “But my wife has other motives.”

“I’d like to introduce you to General Schuyler’s daughters,” Martha says, beaming. She places her hand on top of Hamilton’s. “Little Peggy’s too young, but his older daughters - Angelica and Elizabeth - are around your age. They’re both very lovely women.”

It takes Hamilton a moment to catch her meaning. He looks back at Washington who's busy stirring his dinner, silent.

“My husband thinks women are too much of a distraction for his soldiers,” Martha says, stilling Washington’s hand with her free one and holding it. “He forgets he courted me during the French and Indian War.”

Washington’s face softens. “It was different then.”

Hamilton manages what he hopes is an agreeable smile and gently pulls his hand away from Martha’s. Not long ago he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to meet a wealthy general’s unmarried daughters, effortlessly woo them, and marry one within the month. For status, for love, for a family. Luckily, he has Washington, Laurens, and the rest of his military family. They’re enough, right now.

“Thank you. But I think your husband has a point,” he says, eyes flickering to Washington’s. “I haven't given much thought to anything aside from the war these days, I’m afraid.”

Martha smiles back. If she’s at all disappointed, if she’s caught his lie, Hamilton can’t tell.

“Of course. You’re young and ambitious - a lot like George was at your age. You let me know if you change your mind.”

 

* * *

 

He hasn't had a nightmare in months. He finds they aren’t as frequent when he’s curled around Laurens, the other man's dark curls tickling his lips and cold feet grazing his calves. That’s why he’s caught off guard when he wakes up in the middle of the night, cheeks covered in hot tears, gasping for breath while Laurens holds his face between his palms.

“Are you awake?” Laurens asks, carding a hand through Hamilton’s hair the same way his mother would back in Saint Croix, in the small bed they shared, too poor to afford a second. Hamilton seizes his wrist, nodding wordlessly.

“You were screaming,” Laurens says, his face only barely visible in the darkness of their room. Warm lips press against his forehead and a thumb darts under one eye, then the other, wiping away the wetness that’s settled there. “I don’t think you woke anyone else.”

Laurens lowers his head down to his chest, and Hamilton is suddenly hyperaware of the way his own collarbone and ribs jut out. It can’t be comfortable, yet Laurens doesn’t complain as he presses against him. Hamilton’s hand falls to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the strands of hair Laurens has neglected to tie up. His eyelids grow heavy again.

“What was your nightmare about?” Laurens’ voice cuts through the building silence.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, yet Hamilton can’t quite find the words for it. It’s blackness and a familiar falling sensation, one that frequently plagues his dreams. Such a dream has never provoked this reaction, though.

“I can’t remember,” Hamilton says. It might as well be true.

Thankfully, Laurens drops the subject. He turns his head so his chin is propped just beneath Hamilton’s protruding collarbone and begins drawing circles on his chest, through the fabric of his shirt.

“Has Washington told you anything about our departure? When we’ll leave?”

“I believe a week or so after the first day of Spring was always his plan. It won’t be long,” Hamilton says, though it’s still just over three months away. Every day counts in the Ford home - he feels protected here, with Washington, but to a lesser degree he feels trapped. There’s nowhere to run. Not if he - not if they - really needed to get away.

“Well, it can’t come soon enough,” Laurens says, kissing the exposed flesh on his shoulder and smiling into his skin. “I want to go back to New York when all of this is over - whenever that is.”

Hamilton’s chest tightens with an unexplained and sudden sadness. He holds Laurens a little tighter.

 

* * *

 

The news travels fast. When he's mulling it over much later, Hamilton thinks it must've traveled faster than Washington ever anticipated.

The soldiers are quieter than usual, looking over their shoulders with worried eyes and whispering to one another. Going out into the encampment for supply distribution was supposed to be a distraction from being barred off from Washington’s office. Instead, it’s made him even more anxious. Hamilton hasn't been away from these men for that long. He can feel their nervous energy all throughout the Ford grounds.

“Everyone seems very on edge,” he observes after ducking into a tent full of young corporals and dropping a stack of stiff pillows on the ground. The men are silent. It's evident he's caught them mid-conversation. Hamilton stands a bit taller. “If there’s a problem, I’m sure the General would want to hear about it.”

One of the corporals cocks a dark eyebrow at another officer, seated on a cot. “I’m sure the General is too busy to hear our trivial complaints. Especially after this morning.”

Hamilton frowns, confused, thinking back to his own morning. He slept later than usual after a string of restless, fitful nights. He hasn’t seen Washington since the afternoon before – he wasn’t present at breakfast.

“This morning?”

The officer sneers. “We know something before the General’s ‘family.’ That’s a first.”

Hamilton bristles. “Are you forgetting your rank, corporal?”

The corporal rolls his eyes up to the tent ceiling and Hamilton tenses, his fists clenching at his sides. His patience has already been tested this week - he's not about to tolerate backtalk from a jealous, low-ranking officer. But what the man says next drains him of his rage.

"Lieutenant Enslin spent a few too many nights in Private Monhort's tent. He was drummed out of camp at dawn, on General Washington's orders."


	7. Chapter 7

The walk from the encampment back to headquarters is a blur. There’s a dull ache in Hamilton’s stomach - he feels like he’ll vomit any second. Still, he manages to take the porch steps two at a time and push through the front door and into the parlor.

He’s lucky - the rest of the aides have cleared out of the command center for the afternoon, off distributing supplies and running other errands. Washington’s office door is shut, but Hamilton crosses the parlor and throws it open without hesitation, revealing Washington seated at his desk, thumbing through stacks of papers with his glasses perched low on his nose. He looks up just as Hamilton slams the door shut behind him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, his voice rising. He can feel his face heating up – he must be bright red. He doesn’t care. “That you could just keep this from me and I would never know?”  
Washington’s face falls. He climbs to his feet and walks out from behind his desk, arm extended in a fruitless effort to calm him. “Son, listen.”

 That’s what pushes Hamilton over the edge. He’s almost flush against Washington. The General’s firm hand pressed into his chest is the only thing keeping them apart. He’s suddenly staring down at him with a ferocity Hamilton’s never seen in his eyes until now. It’s a warning. And, for just a moment, he’s reminded he’s standing toe-to-toe with the highest-ranking officer in the Continental Army.

It doesn’t really matter.

“You said you’d protect us!” he chokes out, his eyes burning with tears. He blinks them back rapidly, angry at himself. “How do I trust you when you’re accusing other men in this army of the same thing?”

Washington eyes shift to something over Hamilton’s shoulder, his jaw dropping just a fraction, and then Hamilton feels a sharp pull on the back of his jacket followed by a shove that sends him stumbling backwards. Lafayette has shouldered his way between them, his back to Washington and his forearm pressed protectively into the General’s chest. The marquis is looking at Hamilton like he’s a dangerous animal.

It’s then that he realizes he has one of Washington’s yellow metal buttons clutched in his fist, threads sprouting from where it’s been torn. He doesn’t even remember grabbing hold of the General’s lapel.

“It’s all right, Lafayette,” Washington says with a clipped, yet steady voice. He brushes away the marquis’ arm. “Hamilton and I need to speak privately.”

“I could hear him all the way down the hall,” Lafayette says, touching the shredded threads on Washington’s jacket. “Alex, what – ”  

Hamilton feels his cheeks burn with shame. He can’t look up – he’s certain he’d rather die than meet Lafayette’s or Washington’s eyes. He turns on his heel and darts out of the office instead, slamming the button down on a table by the entryway.

He crumbles against his bed and starts to dry heave as soon as he’s alone in his room. He distantly wonders where Laurens is – and is hit with a cold wave of relief upon remembering he’s been busy sorting mail for the better part of the morning and afternoon. Good. It’s unlikely he’ll hear about Enslin and Monhort until Hamilton tells him.

His heart is still pounding violently in his chest with the building realization of his behavior – the way he yelled at Washington, tried to hurt him – with Lafayette there to see it all. Composure - holding back - has never been one of his strengths. But now, he’s likely damaged his bond with his most powerful ally beyond repair.

“Alex.”

Lafayette’s cracked the door open and slipped inside without Hamilton even noticing. The marquis is quiet – calmer than he was only just a few minutes ago. Still, he fixes Hamilton with an anxious stare. The door softly clicks shut behind him.

“Go,” Hamilton says, dropping his head and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I don’t –”

_“Alex,”_ he repeats, stern, before planting himself next to Hamilton on the edge of the bed. He touches Hamilton’s wrists and drags his hands away from his face. “What’s happened to you?”

“I can’t - ”

“No!” Lafayette cuts him off, uncharacteristically harsh. His fingers dig into Hamilton’s jacket sleeve. “I ask General Washington what is happening between the two of you, he says it is not his place to discuss. I ask you, my friend - or so I thought - and also get no response!”

Lafayette’s accent sounds heavier now, like he’s trying to stop himself from slipping into his native tongue. Hamilton can sense him painstakingly turning English phrases over and over again in his head. 

“Are we no longer friends?” he asks, and that makes Hamilton’s stomach lurch again. It’s not a real question - Lafayette meant it to hurt. “I am trying to find out why two men I love are turning their backs on me.”

Hamilton looks down, ashamed. But he feels some relief - he knows what he has to do now. Knows that if Lafayette doesn’t find out from him, he’ll find out some other way. There’s no going back from the damage he’s already done. He wants Laurens at his side for this.

“Lieutenant Enslin was drummed out of camp this morning,” Hamilton begins, his eyes focused on the toe of Lafayette’s boot. “That’s what all those meetings were about, is that right?”

Lafayette’s still tense on the bed next to him, but he shrugs a shoulder. “For sodomy, yes.”

“Lafayette, I - ” Hamilton takes in a sharp breath, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling now. Laurens should be here, he thinks again. “You remember that night at the Bridge Tavern, what you saw. And the next day I told you - ”

“That I drank too much.”

Hamilton meets his eyes now, nodding. “And you let it go. But that was…Laurens and I- ”

He stops. Lafayette is looking at him, too. Hamilton can't really decipher the expression on his face or the glint in his eyes, but he seems mostly unfazed. And it’s understood that Hamilton doesn’t need to say anything else. It’s likely, Hamilton thinks, that Lafayette’s always suspected what was unspoken between them. 

“The General knows, then?” Lafayette asks after a heavy pause, closing his eyes when Hamilton nods. “He loves you, you know.”

“I know,” Hamilton says guiltily. “He offered his protection to us when he - when he found out. But with this, now, I - ”

Lafayette’s brow furrows and he waves his hand at Hamilton, silencing him. “Wait, Alex. You do understand, yes?”

“Understand what?” Hamilton asks, impatient. “What are you…?”

“The General did not come to this decision on his own - about the Lieutenant, I mean. The report was brought to him by the regiment’s colonel.”

Lafayette goes on, with Hamilton only half-listening because, now, he understands. As soon as Knox and Greene were involved, there was not much else that could be done. Enslin had to go. The colonel called for an even harsher punishment, at first. It was Washington who talked everyone down - a lack of substantial evidence, he argued. When it came time for Enslin to be drummed out, Washington alerted only the people who needed to know. And not another soul. 

Hamilton feels faint. How could he be so incredibly _clueless?_

 

* * *

 

The rest of the house is asleep. 

  
His forehead drops to Laurens’ shoulder as he finishes inside of him with a low groan, his entire body going limp. It takes him a couple moments to catch his breath, so he relishes the solid weight beneath him until Laurens wordlessly squeezes his shoulder and twists his hips, just slightly. 

Hamilton pulls out and flops down on the bed, curling around Laurens’ side. He doesn’t close his eyes yet - just watches Laurens’ eyelashes flutter in the dark, watches the way his lips part and chest heaves as his breathing slows.

“What was that about?’ Laurens asks, turning his head on the pillow to face Hamilton. His dark eyes scan his face, up and down. “We haven’t done… _that._ Lately.”

Hamilton reaches out, lets his fingertips brush across Laurens’ cheekbone. He says it as gently as he can.

“Lafayette knows.”

If there’d been any light in the room, Hamilton’s certain he would’ve watched the color drain from his face. Laurens props himself up on his elbows and stares down at him.

“Lafayette knows _what,_ Alex?”

Hamilton grabs hold of his arm and guides him back down to the bed as he explains everything. Enslin’s blink-and-you-miss-it dismissal, confronting Washington, telling Lafayette - out of guilt, yes, but also because it felt so good to finally tell the truth to someone else, this time on his own terms. He explains what he’s found out about Washington's involvement, too.

"When we got here no one knew," Laurens says, staring up at the ceiling. Hamilton runs a fingernail down his arm and Laurens shivers. "Now two people know."

"You know we can trust Lafayette," Hamilton says, dismissive, knowing fully well their secret isn’t completely safe in anyone’s hands. Not really. “He was ready to bend over backwards for Washington within seconds of meeting him. And he's known you longer than me."

Laurens bites down on his bottom lip and Hamilton hums in appreciation at the sight. It really has been a while. 

"And don't you think that could be a problem?" Laurens asks. "That his loyalty to Washington could become an issue if we ever..." 

He trails off, letting his cheek fall back against the pillow. Hamilton meets his gaze with a half smile.

"I don't think that's a bridge we'll ever have to worry about crossing," Hamilton says. "We just need to do what we've been doing - which is, being careful."

Hamilton smiles and places a hand over Laurens' mouth when he sees his nose scrunch in disapproval. 

"And don't worry. I’m clearing the air with Washington tomorrow," Hamilton promises. He's more relaxed, at peace with their predicament, than he should be right now - he knows this. It's just hard to worry too much with Laurens in bed next to him, their door locked. 

Laurens sighs and closes his eyes. Hamilton's nearly asleep when he feels a socked foot kick his leg.

“You just seduced me so I wouldn’t have the energy to argue with you about all of this, didn’t you?”

Hamilton bites back a laugh. "There were other reasons. But you _were_ significantly calmer than you would've been, otherwise." He pokes Laurens' side, playful. "Don't you think?"

"Hm," Laurens smiles sleepily, curling in a little closer. "You're lucky I love you.”

Hamilton's stomach drops - this time, in a good way. 

 

* * *

 

He waits until the next evening to enter Washington's office, as gentle and unassuming as he can manage. He hasn't really prepared anything to say - an apology, yes, but he's not sure how to handle anything else thrown his way. Especially if Washington is angry with him. He'd be completely justified, after all. 

"Your Excellency," Hamilton says from the doorway, bowing low. 

Washington's scrawling his signature across a page. He doesn't look up from his work. "Is it safe to say you came to the realization I don't take much of an interest in ruining the careers of officers I've never actually met, Lieutenant Colonel?"

Hamilton cringes. He stares helplessly at the top of Washington's bowed head. "With some help from the marquis, sir."

Washington laughs at that, but it’s not exactly friendly. He looks up and waves Hamilton in. “The door, please.”

Hamilton closes the door and crosses the room, hands resting on the chair in front of Washington’s desk. He’s too anxious to sit down and keep still. He squeezes the chair and watches his knuckles go white.

“I didn’t think yesterday,” he blurts out, eyes now focusing on a spot just to the side of Washington’s face. “I heard the news from an officer while visiting the encampment and I just - I panicked, sir. I didn’t know what was happening.”

He looks at Washington, and then his eyes travel down his chest, falling on the yellow button he’d ripped off. Neatly sewn back on - by Martha, most likely. Hamilton hopes Washington didn’t mention how, exactly, it was removed.

“I was going to speak with you, and John. Once the dust had settled,” Washington says with a sigh. “I thought, perhaps, you trusted me enough that if it got out we’d discuss it calmly-”

“Sir- ”

“-but your reaction yesterday suggested otherwise, and for that I regret not informing you from the start.” 

Hamilton passes a hand over his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Sir. With all due respect, John and I aren’t necessarily in a place to just assume you - or anyone else, for that matter - have our best interest in mind. You have to understand how frightening it was to hear that Enslin was drummed out of camp on your orders.”

Washington’s staring at him, a heat behind his eyes. “I believe I said I wouldn’t let anything happen to you while you were a part of my family.”

“You did!” Hamilton confirms, fists clenching at his sides. “I remember! But I- ”

He feels it then - hot tears at the corners of his eyes. He wipes them away hurriedly, even though there’s no way Washington hasn’t already noticed. It’s useless, he thinks. There’s no way the General will ever be able to grasp why he’s so paranoid. Why he’ll never be able to truly let his guard down.

“OK,” Hamilton says, voice hoarse, blinking rapidly and standing up a bit straighter. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Washington eyes him uncertainly, and then his shoulders slump. He sighs again. “I wish I would’ve told you sooner. You understand that when it came down to the Lieutenant’spunishment my hands were tied?”

He nods, relaxing, just a little. “With Greene and Knox I can’t imagine it was easy.”

Washington huffs and rolls his eyes, standing up from his desk and pushing his chair in. “It was a nightmare. They wanted to - well, never mind that. Enslin was discharged. It’s something that’ll follow his name forever, but at least he’s still in one piece.”

“Lafayette said you didn’t follow protocol - that only the highest-ranking officers knew, and it happened before most of the encampment had awoken.”

Washington cracks a small, distracted smile, but doesn’t answer. He straightens an oil lamp on his desk. 

“Lafayette knows,” Hamilton says suddenly, watching for Washington’s reaction. “I told him. I thought you should know that.”

For the first time since he walked into the small office, Washington looks at him with genuine fondness. “And Lafayette told me. He’s a good friend to you and John.”

Hamilton finds his chest tightening at the thought of Lafayette and Washington discussing his deepest secret. He ducks his head, concealing the tears he feels gathering again. Not for the first time, he wishes he could put his life in reverse, rewrite the outcome.

Then, he feels Washington step next to him and then there’s a strong hand on his shoulder, anchoring him in place. 

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

Hamilton’s heart flip-flops. He looks up and nods - he means it. “If there’s ever a next time just - ” he clears his throat uncertainly, wondering if he’s pushing his luck with such a request. “A word of warning?”

“Yes,” Washington promises, squeezing his shoulder once before tugging him toward the door. “We’ll have dinner tonight - the two of us and Martha, John and Gilbert. I thought we could use a quiet one.”

Hamilton’s lips twitch up into a smile. A quiet one does sound nice.

 

* * *

 

**Bridge Tavern, 8 months ago**

 

“How long - ” Hamilton kisses his neck, presses him roughly against the stone wall, smiles into Laurens’ hair when he feels the bulge in his pants pressed up against his knee. “- do you think we could stay out here before the others drag us back inside?”

Laurens looks away and Hamilton follows his gaze out toward the main street where human-shaped shadows pass by in the night. The narrow alleyway provides a perfect shelter.

“Come on,” Hamilton purrs, grinning as he places a palm flat on Laurens’ cheek and presses their foreheads together. The other man’s face is swimming in front of him. “No one will see us.”

“You’re drunk,” Laurens points out helpfully, offering him a peck on the lips. “Let’s wait until we’re back at your apartment, all right? And after you’ve sobered up a bit.”

Hamilton rubs his knee between Laurens’ legs, grin widening when the other man’s head falls back against the tavern’s wall with a low moan. “But I can tell you’re ready now.”

Laurens manages to straighten back up, eyes clouded with unbridled lust before he pulls Hamilton into a hungry kiss. That’s when they hear a door slam, the sound of the festivities from inside the tavern briefly leaking out into the alleyway, someone stomping around the corner.

“Would you believe that Mulligan’s left for the evening with not one - but two women. So now I am alone, and - ”

Lafayette stops in front of them, head jerking back at the sight. Laurens’ jaw has dropped but Hamilton, with sudden and unexplained drunken courage, sets his own jaw and lets go of Laurens. He surges forward and presses a kiss squarely on Lafayette’s lips.

The marquis blinks back at him, dazed. Hamilton sucks in a breath and hears Laurens clear his throat, somewhere behind him.

“Um, Lafayette?” Laurens asks, his pitch rising in a way that Hamilton, nearly losing his balance just from standing still, finds painfully adorable. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Lafayette squeezes his eyes shut and thinks on it. “Too much, apparently.”

“Good man,” Hamilton says, throwing an arm around Lafayette’s shoulder and patting his chest. “But give a man a warning before you kiss him next time, OK?”

_“What?”_ Lafayette snaps.

Laurens makes a choked sound and Hamilton looks over his shoulder in time to see him peeking through his fingers, face bright red, but laughing into his hands. As dizzily drunk as he is, it’s a moment he remembers clear as day for the rest of his life.

 


	8. Chapter 8

It’s Martha who, one particularly uneventful afternoon, waves him into her own sitting room - a small but beautifully decorated space on the other side of the Ford home that mirrors her husband’s office. In it there’s a small table, her own writing supplies and stationary, stacks of books and a spinet tucked away in the corner with sheet music neatly stacked atop the bench. She smirks at Hamilton as she tosses a deck of cards onto the table, and he grins right back and deals them out.

 

“What would your husband think of this?” Hamilton laughs after three rounds - all of which he’s lost. It’s no secret the General forbade card and dice games a few winters ago. His men had plenty to do, he argued - their prime focus during the colder months should be survival. Not gambling away what few supplies they had. It didn’t stop the troops from indulging, though, and not many commanding officers enforced the rule.

 

Martha waves a delicate hand. “What’s he going to do about it? Send me back to Mount Vernon?”

 

Hamilton laughs again and Martha echoes it, collecting the cards from the table and stashing them away in a cabinet, retrieving two glasses and a bottle on her way back. She pours out an amber-colored wine and passes a glass to Hamilton, who sips it slowly. Madeira - the General’s favorite.

 

“Do you miss him much?” Hamilton asks suddenly, Martha eyeing him over the rim of her own glass. “When he’s gone, I mean. When you’re back in Virginia.”

 

Martha sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and nods. “I worry more than I miss him, truthfully. He’s always been meticulous, you know. Never misses a letter. It’s knowing an entire army would like to see him captured, or worse. That’s what keeps me up at night.” She pours more Madeira into her already half-full glass. “But mankind will endure almost anything for the people we love. It’s quite amazing, don’t you think?”

 

Hamilton shifts in his seat, nervous, and nods. He opens his mouth to change the subject, but Martha beats him to it.

 

“We weren’t always so deeply in love, you know,” she says, her lips twisting up into a private smile. “I was a widow, terrified of raising my children without a husband, and he was an ambitious man who saw an opportunity to improve his social standing. Prior to our wedding he was in love with another woman - a Sally Fairfax, a good friend of ours, still. She was married, though, and neither acted on their feelings. George did what he thought was best for his name, I did what was best for my son and daughter. But it didn’t take long for us to feel real, genuine affection for one another.”

 

Hamilton digests this information and turns it around over and over again in his head, trying to imagine a younger Washington trailing after, lusting for, someone other than Martha. It feels wrong. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

Martha polishes off her wine with two more sips and sets her glass down. “George has told me all about you - who you are, where you came from. I would hate for you to miss an opportunity because of fear.”

 

Hamilton suppresses a groan. The party, the Schuyler sisters -

 

“It has nothing to do with fear,” Hamilton says, careful not too sound too defensive. He reminds himself that he’s still speaking to the General’s wife. “Like I told you before, I don’t have the time-”

 

“I know,” she interrupts him, gentle. “But this war will be over soon, God willing. A man with your talents should be looking for ways to secure his future.”

 

Hamilton swallows hard and his eyes shift to the floor. He knows Martha means well, that it comes from this attachment the Washingtons seem to share for him.

 

Martha watches him, silent, before rising from the table and collecting the glasses and bottle of Madeira.

 

“Let’s go join the boys for dinner,” she says, almost too cheerily. “You know how George feels about latecomers.”

 

* * *

 

An hour or so after dinner, after searching most of the lower level of the home, Hamilton finds Washington wrapped in his black coat and sitting on the stoop of the Ford home.

 

“Sir?” Hamilton calls, standing in the doorway, his teeth chattering. He wraps his arms around himself, stares at Washington’s back. The dry air burns his face. “Come inside, it’s too cold.”

 

Washington straightens up and rises to his feet, turning to Hamilton with a small smile. Hamilton looks out at the lawn, blanketed with ice and snow.

 

“What are you doing out here?” Hamilton asks. He grabs Washington by the elbow as he steps inside. He closes the door behind them, cutting off the cold wind. Washington shrugs off his coat and walks back to his office, letting Hamilton trail behind him.

 

“It gets a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?” Washington asks, waving Hamilton inside before shutting the door. He hangs his coat and hat up on the opposite side. “Some fresh air is good.”

 

Hamilton shrugs his agreement as Washington leans against his desk and pours himself a drink. He extends the cup to Hamilton, but he waves it away. “Is there something I can do for you, son?”

 

“I - ” Hamilton clears his throat, eyes flickering to Washington’s before darting away again. The memory of charging in - yelling at his commander - is still fresh. “It’s about Mar - your wife, sir.”

 

Washington frowns, confused. He circles around to his chair and sits with a heavy sigh. “What about her?”

 

Hamilton steps closer to the desk now, absentmindedly rearranging an ink well and a stack of folders. He’s just fidgeting, really. “She brought up General Schuyler’s daughters again. I just…wouldn’t want her to get suspicious.”

 

Washington smiles, clearly unworried. “Martha wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. She probably just thinks you’re being stubborn which is, if I may say, true to character.”

 

He opens his mouth to respond, but Washington stops him with a raised hand. “I’ll talk to her.”

 

“Thank you, sir. Anything I can do before - ”

 

A sharp slam and some shuffling in the parlor cut him off. Hamilton’s head snaps in the direction of the door as Washington stands from his desk, and then one of the guards - one Hamilton hasn’t really bothered to get to know, but he’s seen him lurking around the grounds - is pulling Lafayette and Laurens through the door.

 

“Two of your aides were picking fights with a couple corporals back at the encampment, Your Excellency,” the guard huffs, out of breath. He jerks Laurens’ arm for emphasis. “One of the lieutenants brought them over to me, I thought - ”

 

“You’ll unhand them,” Washington says icily as Hamilton stands frozen in place, looking Laurens and Lafayette over. Laurens’ hair is messy and loose, a bruise purpling on his cheekbone and his left eye grotesque and swollen shut. Lafayette looks marginally better - a spilt and bloody swollen lip - but whereas Laurens is steely and silent, Lafayette’s eyes are glistening. He fights a protective urge to shove the guard away and take Laurens’ into his arms, but it’s overcome by a sickening panic that’s bubbling up inside him.

 

“Sir,” the guard says uncertainly, dropping Lafayette’s arm. Laurens violently yanks his away and glares down at his boots. “Allow me to provide the names of - ”

 

“That will be all,” Washington cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. The guard sets his jaw, salutes, and turns on his heel. The door slams behind him and Lafayette inhales sharply, almost a sob.

 

“John,” Hamilton says, stepping forward. His hands hover over Laurens’ face - he’s too afraid to touch the bruising skin. Laurens’ fingers encircle his wrist - he squeezes, but says nothing. Hamilton looks over to see the General handing Lafayette a clean handkerchief. The marquis presses it to his mouth and hisses.

 

“Tell me what happened - now,” Washington demands, his demeanor mostly unchanged, though Hamilton sees the way his eyes anxiously scan over Lafayette, then Laurens.

 

Hamilton runs a hand down Laurens’ arm and gives him a small nod, one that he hopes is encouraging. But he’s not so certain he’s ready to hear the answer himself. Laurens cocks his chin up and swallows.

 

“The corporals, Your Excellency, were -”

 

“From the beginning, Lieutenant Colonel. Tell me why you were out in the encampment this late in the first place!”

 

Hamilton cringes but Laurens doesn’t even blink - only steadies himself.

 

“Lafayette and I were taking a walk after dinner, out stretching our legs. We stopped to talk with a few of the corporals - they were having a late dinner on the grounds. A few minutes into this, there were some - hateful statements directed at us. It was hard to keep calm, sir.”

 

“And what did they say?”

 

“Mostly ridiculous accusations that we were being pampered at headquarters while they were being left to starve, sir.”

 

Hamilton’s eyes narrow. He can tell when Laurens is withholding something - he knows that look by now. Jaw set, lips stretched into a thin line, no eye contact. Lafayette is shifting his weight from foot to foot.

 

Washington lets out a sharp, angry laugh. “And you both felt it necessary to fight your fellow men over this? We have deserters every day. Our camaraderie is more fragile than it’s ever been, and you would-” 

 

“Word about your, I believe you call it, ‘relaxed’ punishment for the lieutenant has traveled,” Lafayette speaks up, his voice hoarse. “The men are dissatisfied.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“They suggested there might be a reason for it,” Laurens offers, finally looking at Washington. “That you might have some sort of personal motive.”

 

A wave of nausea washes over Hamilton as he watches the realization, the implication behind Laurens’ words, hit Washington full force. He’s never seen the General look so taken aback. So knocked off balance. So genuinely frightened.

 

It passes quickly, though. Washington clears his throat and stands up a bit straighter, fixing them each with an unreadable stare. Lafayette shrinks under his gaze.

 

“I need to know what was said.”

 

Now it’s Hamilton’s turn to look down. He presses into Laurens’ side instinctively. Now, he’s really not sure he wants to know, though he understands why Washington does. It’s not a rumor he can simply turn his back on.

 

“It’s crude, Your Excellency,” Lafayette says, almost pleadingly. He looks back at Laurens, then to Hamilton. “Please. I could not say it out loud.”

 

“I need to know. That’s an order.”

 

Lafayette inhales sharply and keeps his eyes fixed on the ground. He draws out his words slowly, looking as if he’s close to gagging on them. “They said maybe that is why you keep, they said, ‘such pretty boys’ around.” He looks up at Washington now, swallowing hard. “And that since I am serving a country that is not even my own with no pay, I must be being…compensated. In other ways.”

 

Hamilton’s stomach lurches. But Washington’s face remains mostly unchanged.

 

“You both have made this situation worse by turning it into a fight,” he says. His voice has cooled considerably, Hamilton notices. “I don’t need to be defended or shielded from petty rumors.” He sinks back down into his desk chair, looking exhausted in the lamp light. “Tell me the names of these corporals.”

 

Lafayette mutters a few names and Laurens jumps in with the ones he knows. Washington jots them down on a paper pad, his quiet scribbling filling the room. Hamilton watches him in silence, painfully aware of the crippling panic that’s still blooming inside his own stomach. This is his fault - that’s not lost on him.

 

“Sir. What can I do to help with this?” he asks, feeling his face heat up when Washington looks up at him. He hopes his shame - his guilt - won’t betray him. He doesn’t want Washington to see him in distress anymore - not if this is where it gets them.

 

Washington closes his eyes, sighing gently through his nose. “You can encourage your friends to resist engaging in fights with their fellow men. If these rumors persist, you’ll report them to me.”

 

Laurens looks down at the listed names on Washington’s desk. “What will you do, Your Excellency?”

 

“For the moment, nothing. Acting now would appear too rash.”

 

Lafayette frowns, taken aback. “But you can’t let these men spread lies about you.”

 

“We let the rumors die out,” Washington says calmly, giving them each a careful look. “There’s nothing to back them up. Eventually, they will lose interest.”

 

Hamilton nods. It’s easy, and it’s smart - twisting everything in a way that makes the rumor seem entirely unimportant to the General. The guilt is still threatening to eat away at him, though - it’s like a dull headache waiting on the edges of his brain. Everyone in the room is thinking it - he knows it. That, if it weren’t for his own stupid mistake, the General’s honor and reputation wouldn’t be at risk.

 

“Let’s call it a night,” Washington says, his eyes on Hamilton’s. He gestures at Laurens and Lafayette. “Do either of you need a medic? I’d rather news about this not spread any more than it already has, so if you must, you’ll see my personal physician.”

 

Laurens shakes his head. Lafayette touches his lip tenderly with a clean tip of his handkerchief, frowning down at the blood staining the cloth.

 

“It’s nothing I can’t see to,” Hamilton says, reaching out to brush his fingers across Laurens’ temple, near his swollen eye. “A cold towel for the swelling should work.”

 

A new feeling - some sort of mix between genuine fear, anger and annoyance - creeps into him when they’re back in their room, Hamilton pressing a snow-chilled towel against Laurens’ face. It grows the more he looks down at Laurens from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed. It grows when he notices the dark red blood that’s dripped onto their pillows. Laurens is close to drifting off into sleep, but Hamilton suddenly feels wide awake.

 

“What you did was so, incredibly stupid, you know.”

 

“Really? Coming from you? You know you would’ve done the same thing,” Laurens shoots back without missing a beat. He opens his eyes and looks up at Hamilton. “I couldn’t just stand by while they insulted Washington.”

 

“It’s not even about him. I don’t want a target painted on _your_ back.”

 

Laurens seems to soften a bit at that, at least. He reaches out and grabs hold of some of the loose hair that’s fallen from Hamilton’s pony tail, pulling him down into a careful kiss.

 

“Nothing’s going to happen. To me, to you, to Washington. All right?”

 

“All right,” Hamilton whispers against his skin, even though it’s getting harder and harder to believe.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The rumors persist. 

Over the next several days, Hamilton notices the way Lafayette can barely make eye contact with their General. He can’t quite look at Martha, either. Out of all the whisperings around the encampment that’s the lie that seems to hurt the most, and Lafayette is almost beside himself with unwarranted shame.

“Have I showed too much affection for the General?” he asks Hamilton and Laurens one night, pacing the creaking floor of their bedroom. “Is this all my fault?”

Laurens is quick to soothe him with a hand on his back, comforting words in his ear. And as Hamilton watches them, he’s hit with that familiar feeling of guilt. The knowledge that this is, deep down, his doing. His actions are at the root of all this. 

Looking at John before all of this, before this mess, it always felt like time had stopped. Now, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s running out, instead.

Washington, on his part, keeps quiet. And if Martha’s heard anything, she doesn’t make it known. The General doesn’t quite change his demeanor, those not as close to him would never notice, but Hamilton can tell he’s hurt by the way Lafayette, especially, has distanced himself. The other aides have heard the rumors - Hamilton can tell by the way they watch Washington now. Carefully, uncertainly. Like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

But, if the other aides are talking, they don’t share with Hamilton or his friends. And then one evening, over dinner and several bottles of wine, Grayson shows his true colors. 

“General Knox has sent along confidential paperwork on Private Monhort for you to look over first thing in the morning, if not tonight, Your Excellency,” Grayson says, a tension almost immediately filling the room at the mention of Monhort’s name. Hamilton peers at Grayson from over the rim of his glass, noticing the way the Lieutenant Colonel’s own dark eyes flicker up to Washington’s, like he’s daring the General to bite. 

Lafayette, next to Hamilton, clears his throat. Washington looks at the Marquis, his expression indecipherable, and then drags his gaze back to Grayson.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel,” Washington says, voice even. Neutral. “I’ll take a look after dinner - Hamilton, you’ll join me.”

“Sir,” Hamilton responds, still looking at Grayson. He doesn’t miss the way his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. Hamilton’s hand tightens around his fork.

“Do you think Monhort will be dismissed, Your Excellency?” Grayson drawls out. “I would think it only fair, with what happened with Enslin.”

Washington fixes him with a withering look - Hamilton has been on the receiving end of the General’s frustrations many times, but this is something he’s never quite seen before. Grayson, to his credit, doesn’t falter under it, though.

“Monhort is still under an investigation,” Washington says slowly. “As a low-ranking young soldier, it’s entirely possible he was taken advantage of - it’s something to consider before you speak, Mr. Grayson.”

“Sodomy is sodomy, don’t you think, General?” Grayson presses, and his eyes land on Lafayette. Heavy with the implication. “Surely Monhort’s punishment should not be even  _more_  relaxed than the sentence you served Lieutenant Enslin - ”

Hamilton jumps in his seat before Washington’s hand even reaches the table. He smacks it with such force that their plates vibrate and wine and water spills over the top of a few glasses. Even Grayson, so cocky just seconds before, looks like the air has been snatched from his lungs.

“You’re out of line, Grayson,” Washington says. The dining room is packed, yet no one dares make a sound. Martha was smart to retire early, Hamilton thinks, distantly. Breathlessly, he waits for Washington to continue. “I don’t think we’ll have need for you going forward.”

“Your Excellency - ”

“You’ll finish up any outstanding work tomorrow. Laurens, you’ll help arrange Grayson’s journey home.”

Grayson’s jaw drops - quite literally. It would be humorous, Hamilton thinks, under other circumstances. Grayson has been with Washington since the beginning of the war - loyal, if not unbearable most days. Even Hamilton has to admit it seems rash.

Grayson opens and closes his mouth, attempting to form words, before pushing his chair back and fleeing the room. No one looks at Washington. Laurens, on the other side of the table, instinctively locks eyes with Hamilton, and he feels almost as if the blood in his veins is on fire. He glances away almost as soon as their eyes meet. He’s not sure why. He just can’t bear to look at him.

“Alexander,” Washington says, his voice remarkably even as he stands up and pushes in his chair. Hamilton jerks his head in Washington’s direction at the sound of his full name. “With me, please. The rest of you, go on, finish your dinner.”

Hamilton, head down so he doesn’t have to see anyone else watching him (though he feels Laurens’ eyes on his back the entire time), follows Washington into his office, closes the door behind him so their voices don’t carry out to the main floor.

“Your Excellency,” Hamilton says as soon as the door latches, spinning around on his heel to face Washington. “Don’t you think that was a little impulsive?”

Washington smiles at that - just slightly - and Hamilton has to, too. He knows how it sounds, coming from his lips. Hamilton tries to rephrase, make his point clearer.

“You said, only last week, we’d let these rumors die. Not feed the fire. Don’t you think Grayson will talk?”

Washington sighs, circles around to his desk. He doesn’t sit, though. Just picks up a heavy envelope resting on top of the rest of his neatly stacked documents. It’s likely the paperwork Grayson mentioned at dinner, Hamilton realizes. 

“You saw the way he looked at Lafayette,” Washington says, opening the envelope carefully. “Grayson can say whatever he likes. He’ll be gone, anyway. But I won’t have him antagonizing my family.”

Hamilton feels his stomach drop and tighten - in a good way. It doesn’t get old - that feeling of unconditional love, that feeling of belonging. He’s still processing (reeling from it in the way he always does when the General makes these comments without realizing what it does to him) when Washington pulls the papers out from the envelope, scans them over.

“Monhort will not be charged,” Washington says with an obvious note of relief, still reading the document. He skims the last page and then drops it back on his desk, gesturing for Hamilton to take it. “Read it over for any inconsistencies. Tonight, if you would, son. Use my signature and send it back to Knox by the morning.”

Hamilton nods, picks up the papers with a quiet “sir” and stuffs them back in the envelope, tucks it under his arm. When he looks back at Washington, his heart is pounding. The General – too often unreadable, stoic and unwavering – looks defeated. It’s there in the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders are slumped. Hamilton fights the urge to reach out and touch his arm.

“Are you all right, sir?” he asks instead, his voice feeling too loud for the quiet room.

Washington closes his eyes and sits down heavily, leaning back against his chair. Hamilton steps closer and rests the palm of his hand flat against the General’s desk – he needs something to steady him.

“This war is hard enough without all of this on my shoulders,” Washington says, eyes open now and focused on the contents of his desk. “I’m just tired, Alex.”

Something like an _I’m sorry_ starts to form on his lips, but he pulls it back, keeps it to himself. The implication isn’t there – Washington would never ask this of him, he knows that – but his next step is suddenly clear. A wave of something like nausea washes over him. But there’s relief, too. He knows what has to be done.

* * *

 

He stays in Washington’s office long after the General has gone to bed - sitting in Washington’s own chair, taking his time reading over Knox’s paperwork, combing over each word, every detail, so as not to place Washington’s signature on something he knows the General would disapprove of. Selfishly, though, he doesn’t want to go back to his room yet – doesn’t want to deal with this next part.

He’s about a quarter of the way through the document when he hears footsteps outside the office and the large wooden door creak open. He looks up, half-expecting it to be Washington coming back to join him. But it’s Laurens instead, his small frame aglow from the hallway lamplight. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed soon?” Laurens asks, still lingering in the doorframe and frowning at the papers laid out in front of Hamilton. “Did the General ask you to work this late, Alex?”

Hamilton shrugs one shoulder, keeping his head bowed. Eyes down. “It’s the paperwork on Monhort’s investigation - he’ll not be charged or dismissed. It just needs the General’s signature.” 

“So sign it and come to bed,” Laurens says, voice heavy with sleep, his smile crooked in that way that makes Hamilton weak. “It’s half past two in the morning.”

He knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, knows Laurens isn’t trying to be a nuisance, but it still makes Hamilton’s skin crawl for reasons he can’t quite place. Like his body is stupidly trying to purge any love he feels for this man. He drops his quill on the desk and finally jerks his head up. It makes him dizzy - he’s been up since the dawn. Sleep is chasing him.

“John,” he says. “I’ll come up to bed when I’m done. I don’t need this paperwork to be one more thing on Washington’s plate tomorrow.”

“Right,” Laurens says, tense. Hamilton keeps their eyes locked - waits. “You’ve been so distant.”

“You know how busy I’ve been. How busy we’ve all been.”

Laurens’ eyes fall to his shoes, almost shyly. 

“With everything that’s happened, I get it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He lifts his chin back up, teeth chewing at his bottom lip. “But I - I need you with me through this. Are we in this together or not? Alex?”

“John.”

Hamilton winces when his voice cracks around his name. He sees the realization dawn in Laurens’ eyes then, too. Sees the way they start to grow wet.

“No.”

“Don’t - ” Hamilton stands, leaving the documents forgotten on Washington’s desk as he makes his way around to Laurens. He reaches out to grab his shoulder, eyes pricking with his own tears at the way Laurens jerks away from him. “This isn’t - I love you. That doesn’t change. But we can’t keep going on like this. You know that, too.”

“Because of a few rumors about Washington? Alex -”

“Because of what it’s _done_ to Washington, John. Don’t pretend you don’t know. He’s risked everything to keep us safe, and look at where it’s got him. Look at what it’s done to Lafayette - our closest friend. If this keeps up, I don’t…you got in a fight last week. If anything happened to you - God, John. I couldn’t - ”

He takes a deep breath, tries to center himself. Focus on anything but the tear streaks on Laurens’ freckled face, anything but that - 

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he says, swallowing, averting his eyes, because it’s another one of those promises he doesn’t know if he can keep. “But with where we are now, working under Washington, I can’t let him keep fighting for us if this is what it’s doing to him. He’s like a father to me.”

“A father, or the man who holds your career in his hands?” Laurens spits back, tears falling freely now as he steps backward toward the door. “What is it about me that’s so easy to walk away from?”

“John, no - ”

But it’s too late. The door latches softly behind Laurens, and he’s gone. Almost as if he were never there. Hamilton stands frozen for a minute - shocked at how quickly it happened, but more by how…numb he feels. The guilt will set in, he thinks, as he walks back to Washington’s desk, his feet suddenly feeling as heavy as his head. He picks up his quill. He still has so much work to do.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr now, if you'd like to say hello. 


End file.
